


Meet Me in the Middle

by j_marquis



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Bonding, M/M, Melancholy, Mostly Gen, Shipping If You Squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 20:30:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14143950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_marquis/pseuds/j_marquis
Summary: They treated him like a feral, wild thing. Like he might attack at any moment. Like he was frightened, and maybe he was.





	Meet Me in the Middle

By the time they had all basically moved into the Highwind, Cid had come to a few conclusions. Quite a few, in fact, seeing his companions truck what few things they still had into the sparse living quarters put things into perspective. But, most importantly, he came to the conclusion that Vincent had nothing. Cloud had a rucksack of necessities, changes of clothes and the like, Barret had a backpack full of much the same, Cait Sith turned his entire moogle into a storage unit, and so on, but Vincent brought nothing aboard but his gun and a bag of materia. No spare clothes, no sentimental or personal items. Hell, even Tifa brought a small stuffed toy with her that had somehow made the entire journey. But Vincent had nothing.

Except a gun, but Cid was pretty sure that gun was an extension of his body, like the prosthetic arm and the monsters.

He was a shock of red in the engine room, his shoulders hunched, body curled into a corner where the roar of the machinery drowned out all other noise, his cloak covered everything but the pitch dark hair that cascaded over his slender back.

"Hey, I need to come back here and check on some things." Cid called, "That okay?"

They all treated Vincent like some wild thing that might attack if they got too close. Warnings and raised hands and open posture, soft, slow words carefully chosen. Cid sometimes thought they treated Vincent more like a weapon than a person, but he kept his mouth shut. After all, who was he to judge what they did to save the Planet?

Vincent didn't respond. Cid hesitated, a long moment, but he stepped into his space to examine the readings from the engine. Vincent didn't even look up. So Cid kept working, grumbling about overheating and shoddy Shinra manufacture.

"Chief?" Vincent's voice was small, hesitant.

"Hey." Cid looked down, at where Vincent had spoken without looking at him. "Am I bugging you?"

"No. I just wanted to be sure you were real."

"Something happen?" Cid knocked his hand against the readout panel before crouching down by Vincent.

"Voices. Nothing new."

"How come you look at me and make sure I'm real?" Cid offered him a crooked smile, reached for a cigarette before realizing that wasn't a great idea, not in the engine room of a stolen Shinra ship.

A clawed, prosthetic hand shot out and grabbed the front of Cid's shirt, reaching blindly to feel him, until it pressed against his heartbeat. Red eyes peeked out almost glowing from under the curtains of dark hair. Cid laid his hand over the prosthetic, pressed it against his chest. His shirt tore under one claw as his hand flexed, but the shirt could cope. Someone needed to treat Vincent like a damned human being, even if he wasn't.

"See? Real as rain." Cid tried to reassure him.

Vincent's head fell forward, until his forehead was pressed where his hand was, over Cid's heart, listening. And Cid stilled, let Vincent take this, resisted the urge to hold him, to stroke his hair, to keep talking. He was nothing more, right then, than what Vincent needed, a human presence, a heartbeat. His legs cramped from crouching so long, his hands, one limp at his side, the other still over a metal claw, ached for a cigarette. But he didn't move. He didn't even want to. He wanted to be there, for Vincent, to be the heartbeat, the human reminder he hadn't been offered.

"I haven't felt the rain in so long. I wonder if it's still real."

Cid didn't know if, didn't think it was right, but he lurched forward, hugged Vincent close to him. Pressed his head against his heartbeat and let his blunt, nicotine stained fingers thread into his soft hair, his other arm wrapped around Vincent's narrow shoulders, and he held him. Kissed the top of his head, like he would do to comfort a child. Hummed a tiny tune, a little thing he'd known for ages, and Vincent's real hand came up, and settled on Cid's back. And Vincent held on.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me at aftepes on tumblr I have a lot of feelings about these morons.


End file.
